Homecoming
by TexasDreamer01
Summary: It's been a while, since something interesting happened. Too bad life never stayed that way for long. Bronzeshipping. The Second Epilogue Chronicles, Part three, Section one.


Malik was in the middle of discussing the changes he wanted to make on the engine of his motorcycle with Ishizu (in a fruitless attempt to convince his sister to allot him the money to make said changes), when there was a bright flash of light and something crashing noisily onto the coffee table.

After blinking the spots out of his eyes, a girly shriek he felt completely justified in using erupted from him when he saw precisely what – no, _who_ - had made such an unexpected entrance into their home.

The elder sibling did marginally better, though a rather terrified yell escaped, and Rishid had already entered the room with a determined look on his face.

There, lying on the remains of their beloved table (including the rather morose shards of two cups of coffee and a freshly-filled vase of local flora), was the one person he had hoped to never see again, pain knitting his brows together.

"You!" He squeaked out rather pathetically, rooted to his spot on the sofa and nervously studying every move the thoroughly unwelcome, _nude_ guest made.

Said guest raised his head and cracked open one of his eyes, took a look at his quaking figure and groaned, thumping his head back onto the shattered piece of table it was previously resting on.

"Yes, _me_," the man replied irritatedly, dropping a hand over his eyes to shield them from the surprisingly bright indoor light. "What the hell am I doing here?"

The blunt response left him gaping.

"How the fuck should I know?" Malik ignored the reflexive reprimand from his sister, "And where are your clothes?!"

The hysterical question jumped his voice up an octave, which made the other look down in confusion. He arched a blond brow as he took note of his state of undress and said absently, "Damned if I know. Must still be in the Shadow Realm."

Malik, for his part, didn't know whether to splutter at the ostensibly calm response, or put his head in his hands and ask who he had pissed off this time.

There was a beat of silence as everyone digested the new – and unusual – situation. Ishizu finally decided to take matters in her own hands and stood up, hands on her hips in a commanding manner.

"Rishid, fetch me a blanket to cover him up," she said, then turned to the man lying on the floor in front of them, "And you, get off my table and tell me your name."

The man muttered to himself at her decisive tone, but hauled himself off the floor in one smooth movement, wincing as he realized several shards of glass and pottery had lacerated him.

Ishizu's authoritative look softened when she saw, and sent him off to the kitchen to retrieve the first aid kit.

* * *

The now useless table and other bits were neatly piled off to the side of the couch for Rishid to take away later. Ishizu had sat the man down on the couch, a blanket now covering the necessities, and was now thoroughly cleaning and bandaging each wound – stitches occasionally making an appearance.

Malik, in the meanwhile, was perched on the other end of the couch – his sister had shooed him away when he tried to sit next to her (and almost sat on the bloodied shards of glass and pottery that had been removed) – trying and failing to come up with a convincing glare to the man sitting dispassionately in the middle of the couch.

"You never did tell us your name," He decided to state blandly. It was true; what with the rush to clean up the living room and situate themselves for an impromptu surgery, the man had not once spoken.

The other shrugged, frowning when Ishizu indelicately yanked out a particularly cumbersome sliver of wood. "You never actually gave me a name."

He pursed his own lips in thought. "Well, it would be kind of stupid to give you my name," the blond thought aloud, then turned to his sister in askance, "Ishizu?"

After putting an alcohol-soaked piece of gauze on the newest wound to be stitched up, she looked up. "I had been thinking about that, actually," his sister admitted, "How about Marik? The name means the same as yours, and would be a good choice because you both look alike, but are still unique unto yourselves."

It seemed like a reasonable suggestion, and from the other's shrug, it wasn't a bad one. He slapped his knee in agreement, "Alright then. From now on, you're Marik Ishtar. Welcome to the family. I think."

The sarcastic hesitance brought forth a grin from Marik. "Come now, light of mine. Are you always this tactless with others? Surely I deserve a warmer welcome than that, having been dragged into your home from the Shadow Realm."

For the second time that day, Malik gaped at him in shock, and the low rumble of laughter accompanying the teasing statement only served to confuse him further.

"What the- you- _you_!" He stammered, throwing his hands up in frustration. "It's not like anyone wanted you back in the first place. And what's with that 'light of mine,' anyway? I'm not anything of yours."

Marik put a hand to his chest, "Light, you wound me. Do I truly mean that little to you?" The grin on his face ruined the hurt look he was attempting. "I must be here for a reason. Tell me, has that damnable pharaoh died yet?"

He scoffed, crossing his arms. "Whatever that reason is, it had better be a good one," he said, "And I would say that the pharaoh died, but now I'm not so sure. If _you're_ here, there's no telling who else came back from the dead."

"It would be best to call Yugi, then," Ishizu interrupted their argument. She tugged on the thread and neatly cut off the remainder, smirking at the glare Marik threw her over his shoulder. "However, it might be prudent to wait a few hours until it is an acceptable time to call him. This is not a dire situation – despite what you may believe, little brother – and at the very least a meal and some rest would do some good."

Malik swallowed his outburst with a distinctly peeved expression on his face.

"What are we having for dinner?" He asked resignedly.

"Koshary, Master Malik," Rishid answered, coming out of the kitchen where he had discreetly avoided them (it was time to start dinner, anyway, and mysteriously appearing people or not, it still had to be made).

His face brightened instantly, and he practically skipped into the dining room, completely forgetting about Marik.

Said man looked at the two siblings in confusion. "Was he always like this?" he asked, jerking a thumb in the direction of the suddenly cheerful tomb keeper.

Ishizu shrugged, grinning as she gathered up the first aid kit. "Oh, yes," she said with a mischievous look in her eyes, "But he's even worse when we go to his favourite vendor next to the bakery."

Marik couldn't decide if that was a good thing.

* * *

Dinner was a surprisingly sedate affair, even with Marik staring in astonishment as Malik practically inhaled not one, but three helpings.

Rishid had given him a spare tunic to wear, and he now trailed after the other blond and helped clean up the living room where he was to sleep for the night.

As they tucked in a sheet over the couch's seats in case he bled through his bandages, Marik took a look at the other.

He had grown a bit, he noted absently, making him wonder how much time had passed since Battle City. The inherent awkwardness of adolescence was gone, replaced with a subtle grace as his fingers twitched the sheets into compliance and efficiently tucked them into the gaps of the couch.

Malik tucked an errant lock of hair behind his ear, and he noticed an easy confidence in his stance that hadn't been there before – certainly not when he was the leader of the Rare Hunters.

He tossed the pillow onto his end of the couch, then helped put the blanket on over it. The other gave a satisfied nod, hands on his hips as he surveyed their handiwork.

"That's about it," Malik said, turning to him, "Is there anything you need before I head off to bed?"

Marik shrugged, then on a whim spread his arms out in a welcoming gesture. He grinned at the other's confused look. "Don't you want to wish me a good night?" He said innocently.

The shorter of the two rolled his eyes and shook his head, but came over nonetheless to accept the embrace. He tangled his fingers in the other's hair, briefly smelling the chamomile scent, before letting him go with an expressionless face.

"Goodnight."

Malik frowned at the look, "… Goodnight."

After he left, Marik lied down in the freshly-made bed, wondering what the hell Malik needed him for now.


End file.
